Andy's breath sweeps across my fingers, his body still but eyes alive. He's watching me intently, reading me for several long seconds as I slowly let my hand fall away and then he's grabbing my hand in his and slipping his fingers between mine. He looks at our clasped hands, brows woven together in wonderment and perplexity.
I thought that having a moment like this with Andy would feel strange, like crossing a line that was never meant to be crossed. But it doesn't feel strange at all. It feels like coming home, like being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket by a warm fire, like stepping through the front door of your home after being away for weeks, like the smell of sizzling butter. With Andy, this intimate bubble of hurt and brokenness is the most comfortable place I've been in... years.
Standing, I climb onto Andy's bed and slip behind him so that my chest is against his back and my legs are dangling over the bed beside his thighs. Then I pull him into me, resting my cheek against the tight slopes of his back as I hug him from behind. Seconds tick by, my arms holding him close as I will my heart to relax. I still haven't grown accustomed to this kind of closeness with Andy, not when accompanied by these kinds of feelings.
I find myself counting the steady beats of his pulse as I rest my ear against his back. With careful movements, he's slowly gliding his fingers along my arm and cupping my hands beneath his as he secures me to him. His other hand squeezes at my thigh, a silent appreciation in the action. Just this closeness, the mute support—this is what we both need.
"I'm obsessed with gambling."
The words come so easily from his lips that I worry I've misheard him. Maybe that wasn't his big reveal. Maybe there's more to it. Something uglier that I'm missing. Gambling isn't that horrendous, is it? He plays games and loses money or wins money—depending on his luck, that is. Why's he so devastated about something that I've always viewed as so harmless?
"What?" I question, uncertain.
"I've gambled away my entire inheritance," he says with a stiff calmness in his demeanor.
"Andy," I whisper, leaning around him so I can at least have a view of his profile. I want to say more. Ask why he never told me. Why he seems so ashamed when there are dozens of far worse addictions out there, but my words are stuck.
"I lost everything last night," he mutters, dropping his head and leaning forward, locking my arm around his stomach. When I pull gently, he offers just enough leeway for me to pull free and then I'm slipping around to the edge of the bed and turning to face him.
"How long has this been going on?" I ask, deciding that getting his thoughts away from whatever took place last night might be enough to help him relax.
"Eight months," he tells me, not even hesitating. "The night my dad died."
The room falls silent as Andy lifts his icy blue eyes to meet mine. He's waiting for me to tell him something useless. Like, that it'll all be okay. Or that we can find him help. But I refuse to utter such senseless words when I can see what Andy really needs.
"I'm listening," I say, scooting back just enough to cross my legs and then offering Andy my full attention. "Tell me everything."
He watches me for a moment longer and then nods slowly, expression blank, yet somehow open and readable.
"I only gambled a couple of times in high school," he starts, resting his forearms on his knees as he fastens his hands together. "I bet on a race and lost. It was the losing I couldn't handle and I found myself going back every weekend to see if my luck would change. It never did and after a couple fails, I gave up. I thought I was done. Honestly, I hadn't even considered those few bets to mean anything. I'd moved on. That little piece of my life had just been a kid having fun; nothing serious or harmful about it." He exhales with a shake of his head. "I was wrong.
"When my dad died, he left me a massive inheritance. Something I could have lived off of for a good chunk of my life, but I hated it. I felt bought. Like my dad was telling me, 'I might be gone, but at least you've got all this money to take my place.' I went out that night and blew a couple grand, almost just to spite him. I wanted his disapproval, even though I'd never get it. He was dead and I couldn't handle it, so I spent his money in hopes that I'd somehow be able to rid the grief from my system."
Andy tilts his head to peer up at me, brows bunched in worry as he lets his eyes slide over each of my features. I watch as the tension seeps from his expression and then reach out a hand to give his bicep an encouraging squeeze.
"I've lost everything," he admits again, and I swear I see moisture swimming at the rim of his eyes but he drops his gaze before I can be certain. When he glances back up at me, all signs of grief are gone. Shaking his head, he presses his lips together, jaw flexing against clenched teeth. "That's why I can't be the guy for you... not right now. Because I have nothing. I'd never be able to support you. I'm a joke and I refuse to drag you into my mess."
"It's too late for that," I tell him with a smile. "I've already forced my way into your mess and you can't get rid of me. Look," I tilt his chin in my direction with a gentle coaxing of my finger. "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. We're gonna beat this together, you understand?"
"You're too good for me, Lindsey," he tells me, a weak smile playing at his lips.
Seeing Andy so lost and insecure is such a foreign experience. He's always the lighthearted one. The only one of all of us who's always had his priorities straight. In a way, I completely understand his hesitancy in voicing his problem. Because, like me, Andy had a reputation that the world had given him and it was the same burden I'd always dealt with. This idea that we're perfect people. That we don't make mistakes or act out or have regrets. That's a big responsibility to carry around. No one can be perfect and feeling obligated to obtain such a title can sometimes be the very cause of a downfall. Perfection can't stand on a wall of lies for long before it crumbles.
And Andy and I have both crumbled.
"I'm not afraid of goodbyes," Andy suddenly says, bringing my attention back to the present. "That's what you said everyone thought of me, right? I'm not afraid of goodbyes, I just prefer escaping without being noticed so I don't have to explain where I'm going."
His own reasoning brings a laugh from his lips and he sits up before slowly reclining so he's laying flat on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling.
"Pretty stupid, huh?" he asks, rolling his eyes at himself.
"Maybe," I agree with a shrug. "But it's understandable. I wouldn't mind escaping undetected every once in a while." I pause and then glance sideways at Andy with a mischievous grin on my lips. "Maybe we should just both escape together."
"Only if Haley gets to come."
Andy's instant response has a full-blown laugh escaping from my throat and I flop down onto the bed beside him.
"Of course, just the three of us. We'll pack up your car and head for the beach."
"Correction," Andy mutters. "We'll pack up your car. Mine belongs to some eighty-year-old Filipino woman now."
"Hold on a second," I say, lifting up a finger. "You gambled away your car... and lost it to someone's grandma?"
"Okay, she's not just some grandma," Andy defends. "She's like a freakin' Blackjack ninja grandma. And don't even get me started on Poker. That woman is expressionless. I don't think she ever even blinked until the game was finished. Man," He shakes his head, "so much respect for that fierce little woman."
Laughter is rolling from my lips at the sheer awe on Andy's face. Tilting his head to the side, he offers me a warm grin—one filled with gratitude. I know that feeling. It's the lightness I felt after confessing everything to Andy. Knowing that there's someone out there helping to carry the burden and who actually wants to, it's like rain washing away the filth of pint up bitterness and self-pity.
We lay there for several minutes, my shoulder pressed against his as we stare at the ceiling, each in our own thoughts. Heat radiates through my arm where it meets his, tempting me to slide my fingers into his hand just so I can feel that zap of electricity that he tends to elicit with his touch, but now's not the time. So, I pull my thoughts away from how badly I'd like to roll into Andy's embrace and kiss away his pain and focus on the journey we've had together and where it's going to take us.
I'm realizing that Andy might not be perfect, but it's almost as if his flaws compliment mine. The thought has me remembering what I came here for to begin with. Not even an hour ago, I was cruising through the country screaming out my frustrations as tears painted my cheeks. For a brief moment, all of that was forgotten. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't the one in need and it was a good feeling. But that moment has passed. I can almost feel the dark cloud coasting through my conscience and settling into my chest.
"What are you thinking about?" Andy asks, rolling onto his side and propping his head up with his palm.
I meet his eyes, urging a smile onto my lips as I take in his curiosity. "How good of a friend you are," I tell him.
"Oh, come on, Lindsey," he teases, shaking his head in dismay. "If you wanted me to kiss you, all you had to do was ask."
I laugh, and it feels genuine, but Andy must sense something deeper in the sound because he sends me a suspicious quirk of his brow.
"What's really going on, Lin Diesel?"
Shoot, I'd forgotten how well he knows me.
I sit up and cross my legs, tucking my hair behind my ears and licking my lips. It's not as easy to hide from Andy's intuition as I'd thought it might be, and in a way, I'm grateful. I thought I was going to have to figure out a way to bring up the topic of Mike and Jessie on my own, but it seems it's easier to talk when someone's asking to listen rather than being asked.
"Mike's been helping Jessie write those notes I showed you."
Andy's expression doesn't change, he just sits there staring at me with a perplexed look on his face and then all at once, his calm shatters and he pushes himself from the bed.
"What?" he almost yells, turning and pacing to the other side of the room before backtracking. "I wish you were joking right now, but I know you wouldn't joke about this. What the heck!" He cups his forehead with his hand and shakes his head before crossing his arms. "Did a bomb explode inside Mike's head or something because I swear, all his morals are scrambled?"
"Yeah," I nod in agreement. "I'm starting to realize that Mike's got some issues too."
"So you told him everything?" Andy asks, a doubtful look on his face.
"Jessie did," I clarify. "Apparently Mike's known everything for a while now and was just waiting for me to come clean about it all. He even told me that Jessie's sorry and wants to try and make it work."
Andy laughs but there's no humor in the sound, only bitter disbelief. Then, like a switch, the anger is gone and he's sitting down on the bed beside me and pulling me into his arms. He holds me to him, fingers woven into my hair as he silently gives me his support, my pulse jumping at his sudden nearness. I breathe him in, loving the light smell of his shampoo—citrus and mint—a sweet, soothing scent that somehow matches his very personality. He's not Mike. He's not Jessie. He's just Andy—gentle, safe, protective Andy. The man I've slowly come to realize I'm inescapably in love with.
---
Well... how do you feel about Andy's secret? How do you feel about Andy??
Here's how I feel ---->>> <3 <3 <3
Teaser for next chapter: Drama!!!!! That's all I'm gonna say. Just a little more drama left before things start wrapping up.
How's everyone feeling about the book coming to an end? Kinda bittersweet for me. I love these characters. Honestly, choosing between Mike and Andy was a bit challenging because they're both decent guys. I hurt for Mike because he's such a mess. :( But I'm so ready to mark this baby complete so I can move onto new things!!!! Kind wanna write a standalone novel next. One involving two people who dislike each other getting trapped together somewhere. I've always loved stories like that (no clue why) and would love to try writing my own with twists and unexpected events. What do you guys think? Or maybe I'll write a badboy story and see if I can make it believable in some way. Haha. :D